The Daily Worker Newspaper, March 8, 1924, Page 6

4 ‘ said Klimin, and Are You By IURY LIBEDINSKY Published by THE DAILY WORK- ER thru special arrangement with B. W. Huebsch, Inc., of New York City. Coyprighted, 1923, by B. W. Huebsch & Co, J en ee (WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE) The Russian Communist Party branch is governing this frontier city and ‘fighting the counter- revolution. Earlier installments tell of the fuel shortage that pre- vents seed grain from being fetched on the railroad. The Party meeting decides to send the Red Army far away for fuel, at “the risk of leaving the city open for bandits and counter-revolutionists, It also decides to conscript the local bourgeoisie for wood cutting in a near-by park. Varied types of party members are flashed on the screen: Klimin, the efficient president of the branch, who still finds time to have a sweetheart; Robeiko, the consumptive, whose devotion is killing him; Gornuikh, the brilliant youth of 19 on the Cheka; Matusenko, the luxury- loving place-hunter and Stalmak- hov, a practical workingman_ revo- lutionist. Gornuikh, disguised as a peasant, overhears talk in the market place abéut a plot of counter-revolutionists to seize the town while the Red Army is away getting wood. The Communist company is summoned but, perhaps, too late. Robeiko is dragged out of his house and shot, Klimin’s sweetheart is butchered and Klimin and Stalmakhovy are overpowered and hurled into a dungeon. The counter-revolutionaries are in pos- session of the town, with the Red Army away.—_(NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY). * * & CHAPTER XI—Continued. 1D.UT suddenly the vivid yee — Dances o Spats ae ee o.® * Bimkova Anita! He ‘as nog Democratizing onduras Simkova, Aniuta! ing to see her again! But that was impossible! He must see her! In his head began to spin a fiery, many-colored kaleidoscope of plans - of escape. He thought of the big oaken bolts of the door, of the little cellar window. ... But ,as President of the Cheka, he knew too well that during the whole ; time of his work, there had not been a single case of an escape from this cellar. It was clear that there was no hope. .. . But the noise of shooting be- came nearer and nearer, “Our folk are coming be cog iv - gan to swear. His curses, long, cynical and filthy, rang with the notes of a burning, flamin: May On the other side of the door there was a sound of steps, and then the turning of the lock. “For us,” said Stalmakhov. And Klimin had no time to answer be- fore they had laid hold of him and were pushing and knocking him about... . “Take the swine to the Chief!” a stentorian voice snouted into the darkness. Klimin tried to fight himself free, but they hit him on the head with a club. He lost conscious-. ness and they dragged him up the narrow staircase with its rotting, wooden steps, as if he were a heavy sack. Stalmakhoy walked up by himself, and his pdéck-marked face, covered with blood, was calm as ‘ever. The night had wholly dispersed, and there was a blue sky with a ruby East. Stalmakhov looked at the pale face of Klimin, whom they were dragging along by the arms, and threw a glance round the big inner courtyard of the Cheka, which was shut in by two- story buildings and a high stone wall. A blue flag was leaning against the wall of the little house in which formerly had been the refectory of the Cheka workers. A pile of rifles were scattered about and a boy with a blue cockade in his cap was fitting locks to them. The torn skin on Stalmakhov’s forehead smarted from the fresh wind, “Ah, whom have we here?... Comrade Stalmakhov who. so care- fully collected the corn-toll from the Dmitroy district? See what a bird we have caught!” Stalmakhov ‘ He was not go- Readin heard the. malicious, mocking words. Grey, insolent eyes looked at him out of a pink, clean-shaven face under a shaggy fur hat. A well-built figure, gripped at the waist by an officer’s broad leather belt. . . . “You don’t recognize me, eh? But we'are old acquaintances. Besides we met quite recently, Surely you have not forgotten the Military Specialist, Repin, whose documents you looked thru during the search? We did not happen to thank you then for your careful collection of the corn-toll, but we will settle our account now. .. .” Klimin came to himself when a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him and, at. once, tot. tered to his feet. He was shiver- ing with cold and his head felt as if it were flying to pieces. As soon as he stood up he saw Stalmakhov, whom.two young fel- lows were holding by the arms. A third in nothing but a blue shirt was flogging Stalmakhoy on the back with back-hand blows, satis- faction shining on his bony brow- less face, with its narrow slit eyes. Stalmakhov groaned now and again, and, together with his groans, bitter curses flew from his ~ mouth. Repin was standing on the steps. He turned to’ Klimin, smiled maliciously and insolently, and was just going to Say some- thing when some one shouted for him and he unwillingly went out. They were carrying a wounded man thru the yard. A grimace of pain was twisting his pale face, but he, with difficulty lifting his head from his comrade’s shoulder, cried out to the men who were flogging Stalmakhov: “That’s the stuff, brothers, . . . Lay into him, Vaska!” The rifle shots were rattling not more than half a verst away, and sometimes a ricocheting bullet flew over the yard with a resop-.:< or OW Honduras is to be given a baptismal bath of Wall Street democracy in a rain of bullets. Ma- rines from one of our cruisers have been landed on the northern coast, ostensibly to protect the American consulate binge attack by opposing revolutionary forces. Free Oe eee ee tery of our marines is mus. unwelcome news to the working ‘and farming classes of our country. The capitalist government running and ruining our country today has al- ways assigned its dirtiest work to the marines. It was these soldiers of the sea that raped Haitian in- dependence. It is these mercenaries of Yankee imperialism that have out- raged the national existence of our Latin American republics and have engaged in capitalist brigandage in far-off China. It was the marines who were sent by Assistant Secre- tary of the Navy Roosevelt to drive | the settlers off the Teapot Domne oil reserves so that Sinclair might be able to consummate his crooked deal with Fall. Why doesn’t the United States aad oe i Pood Hon pst Pi est the safety of our con: , as or Bibra 4 of state ordinarily does when such cases arise among first rate powers? Why is the des- patching of the cruiser Denver and the landing of marines our imme- diate and first step here? Besides, why is it that our consulate has been singled out for attack by the conflicting grow : ps? These are all pertinent questions. | 4 They arouse us to some rather un- ini conclusiong about the mission of our marines. American capital- ism is rapidly extending its imper- jalist gold over the less developed and weaker countries, Our ruling class doesn’t pussyfoot with recal- ig Be gel nt, aggressive, - boldness marked by recklessness. “A Week’? wailing hum. And suddenly, break- ing thru the monotonous rattle of shooting, there gushed out a pow- erful wave of shouts of anger and triumph, mingled with snrieks and groans... . After that the shoot- ing came suddenly nearer, bullets flew more and more often over the courtyard, every other minute smashing windows in the upper story of the building. Repin ran into the yard and with him another officer, un whose shoulders Klimin saw epaulettes. “Harness the horses!” shouted Repin, and the two of them went hurriedly out of the gates. The flogging of Stalmakhov came to an end of itself. The bandits rushed to harness horses to a cart, and Stalmakhov, no ~ longer supported by any one, tot- tered and fell in the snow, thin — of blood pouring from his~ Klimin ran to him and began to lift him to his feet, getting his hands smeared with the blood. Stalmakhov groaned, trembled and cursed but none the less stood up, tottering. He looked with agony in Klimin’s eyes, and whispered with grey lips: “It’s cold... . Death has come, sure enough. . .” Klimin took him by the shoulders, and putting him into a little barn at the far end of the yard. “Come on. We'll hide, and per- haps they’ll forget us.” In the twilight of the barn, the back of his head pressed into the horse dung on the floor, lay the mutilated body of Ziman. His en. trails, scraps of scarlet, white and and purple flesh, mixed up with rags of clothes and horse dung, were scattered on the ground, and a heap. of corn had been poured into his ripped-open and disern- bowelled stomach. Terrific suffer- ing was written on Ziman’s little, thin, sharp-nosed face. One of \ing masses by our capitalist exploit- ers must be protected. A challenge to the security of these investments in any one country is a menace to the safety of these bonds in every country. Unsettled conditions in Honduras tend to undermine the se- curity of our bankers’ and manufac- turers’ investments not only in this little afflicted republic, but in every sphere of influence where the Amer- ican dollar is on the offensive. The marines landed in Honduras are there to inflict a heavy dose of dollar democracy, of capitalist tyr- anny.on the people of the weak coun- try. The marines are landed in vio- yar Fg Bhai ge Rae Bhar duras. ing mari is in utter violation of that holiest of principles of self-determination of nationalities, for which hundreds Scenc: Madison Square Garden, Mow Rage ‘Time: a3. : Tho speaker has been talking a leng timc, his pororation is heard .n a high singing voice abuve the lends of a monster crowd, Brother Gods, behold the crawl- teg ant, the lion, the tiger, the crow, ‘2¢ toad, the crayfish and the cliy- fhont, fittle ava big beasts to dyveas the world for ue, And the birds & ing. And we...eh see me beat my breast and do a few steps of the sivine mandance ... why we sit on tbe top roost « g over all, wid one foot in God's Home and ona on this ush-pile... Did you eser see the a i Never on sca ae land such majesty was seen as man coming out of the white ey of God, the walls of darkness light- Last year there were floated inj snatterme to grect him. Look no the United States, Latin American | further for the finest. Proof government bonds tothe value of| Made for the Whole Family. Non- $120,000,000. In addition to thes¢/ shrinkable. Send it to loans there were placed “in Ameri-/any got it back new. can hands industrial issues totalling Who'e your Tailor? a value of more than $50,000,000 in] gtick to God. With a thread and 1923 alone. ui s patch of beef ho sews up ange's. These gigantic investments of the surplus && wrung from our work- FE Shut that type The Priest Speaks By WILLIAM GAMALIER SHEPARD What Do You Think of Our First Story? The DAILY WORKER wants to know what its readers think of the first serial novel it offers to its readers. We have published . many oe of this sripping story. mother appears today. What do you think of the story, its setting, its character, as far as we have gone? We want our read- ers to let us know. Write down your views and send them in to the DAILY WORKER, 1640 N. Halsted St., Chicago, Ill. We publish as many of these letters as we can find space for. Don’t de- lay. Write today. his eyes was wide open, and into the other had been pushed a broken splinter of glass from his spec- tacles. . “He, too, carefully collected the corn-toll,” Stalmakhov whispered hoarsely, dropping on a log and covering his face with his hands. The shooting came still nearer. One of the bandits was wounded in the yard and sank with a scream on the snow. They carried out the wounded and put them in one cart and shoved a pile of rifles into another. Two officers ran out from the doors of the Cheka building, and with them a civilian in a very good new shuba (fur coat) and spectacles. He carried several portfolios of papers, and in the hands of the officers were revol- vers. They had made ready for the victoria, the same in Which, so lately, Klimin had driven to meet Simkova. Stalmakhov and Klimin, it seemed, were entirely forgotten. Suddenly Repin, on a foaming horse, rode into the yard. His face was pale, anxious and angry. “Bring the prisoners here,” he shouted. “Where are they?’ (To Be Continued Monday.) = By JAY LOVESTONE of thousands of our farmers were wounded or ‘eiiied , ing the world war. marines were landed in Hon- duras to protect our capitalist bonds and investments and i nobody else. How many of your shop-mates read the DAILY WORKER? Get lone of them to subscribe today. writer. Turn in the radio. God sat all night in seance with paapeege g teygece hay Bye na gust ng the bluc prints 5S ae See off a corner here, ad a there. When broke a bra turret packed with square mirrors, The copying clerk added this detail. And the Hosts of Heaven stood to sec the _ strange first words, “I, der in Demigorgon. Eventually, why not now? Lay. yeor heart and your dollar on the tight altar, you can’t miss dividends, Your bread is buttered on the right » children of God. Keep your eyes on the grand old nag. Don’t Forget to Grease thc Gears. It takes grease to there. Not Yhree-in-One either, but Gargoyle. _ In the t my soul, my daugh- ter, cries, to a raft of green- backs, and lo! 1... walking on the harp water, with a and a handfal of signed receipts, a os aes